For Family
by TheLastThingYou'llNeverSee
Summary: What should have been isn't necessarily what should be. What if the Sole Survivor was a weaker man, what if the lure of a family was too strong? An idea my cruel brain put into my head, and wouldn't go away untill it was written. Spoilers for the end of the game. ONE-SHOT
"Nate, Honey, wake up! Breakfast is ready and your coffee will get cold!"

Nate just grumbled a response, his face squashed into a pillow. It was warm, comfortable and he really didn't want to get up just yet. But his wife's joyous voice was enough to lure him out of bed, just like every morning. With much grunting, moaning and creaking, he pushed himself up and stretched, yawning heartily.  
That strong, glorious scent of coffee wafted through the house, and Nate followed it to the kitchen.  
The table was set, and at his place stood a cup of black coffee which he happily inhaled.  
From the looks of it, Nora and Codsworth were almost done with breakfast. Nate's gaze rested on his wife. She truly was beautiful. And happy. That's what he so loved about Nora, her happy disposition, her warmth and laughter that always filled their home. When he got back from Anchorage, it was her affection and care that kept Nate grounded.  
And their son, of course. Shaun had been born shortly after Nate came home and looking at his little boy, the soldier had smiled. That little, drooling creature, that still looked like a little alien, became the light of his life.  
Shaun made it all worth it, the suffering, the pain, both brought and received. If it meant that Shaun could grow up in peace, he'd do it all over again.

"Is Shaun up yet?"

"Yes, I heard him moving around, playing. Codsworth, would you go and get him? I'll finish up here."

"Certainly, mum!" Their robot whizzed past Nate and down the hall, while Nora finished breakfast, setting down some toast and bacon and a platter of eggs. It was nice, them all having these lazy mornings and nobody had to go anywhere.  
Nora began to fill the plates, Nate continued to inhale the strong coffee and down the hall, Codsworth could be heard rousing Shaun. Not a minute later, the patter of small feet rang through the house and Nate nearly spilled his drink when his son crashed into him with the force of a small missile.

"Daddy! You sleep well? I had a dream, I think it was weird, but maybe not, but anyway, I was outside and everything was greenish, and the people! You should have seen them!"

"Slow down, sport," Nate chuckled, pushing his son on to his chair. He could never resist ruffling his blonde hair, just a shade darker than his wife's golden strands.  
And he had her laugh.  
They ate their breakfast, listening to Shaun happily chatter away about anything and everything.  
After that, the day passed normally. Nora went to help Codsworth with the housework and Nate took his son out to the yard to toss a baseball around.  
Shaun was telling him about his dream, greenish tinted country sides, horrible monsters running around. Fantastical things the boy had never seen.  
Things Nate pretended to have never seen.  
Eventually, Nora came to join them and the little family ended up staying outside until late afternoon, playing, lazing around and eating the treats Cosdworth brought them around midday.

This was happiness. Kellog was wrong. He didn't need to look back to recognize the happiness he felt right now. It was in hearing his son laugh, or the surprised fake-shriek when he grabbed his wife to take cover in a water fight. Even Codsworth pitched in when Shaun needled him too much.

Now they were all flumped together on the sofa, listening to an episode of the Silver Shroud on the radio. Nora was cuddled up to his side and Shaun was sitting on the floor, leaning against his father's legs, listening intently and laughing when the bad guys got caught in the act.  
It was growing dark outside, and when the radio play ended, Shaun was yawning and bleary-eyed.

"Come on, son. Time for bed."

"No. I wanna stay here, Dad. Please?" The boy looked up with pleading eyes, but couldn't suppress another yawn.

"You're just too lazy to walk, aren't you?" Shaun grinned like a cat and Nate chuckled, "Alright, but this has to stop soon."

With a grunt, Nate heaved his son up and over his shoulder, ignoring the creaking of his knees. Shaun was starting to get to heavy for this, or he was getting old and soft.  
He huffed through the house and dropped the giggling boy onto his bed and tucked him in, making sure the child was snug and warm.

"Daddy, I love you." Shaun was already half-asleep, mumbling into his pillow.

"I love you, too, Shaun," Nate replied, stroking the soft blonde hair from the boy's forehead and dropping a kiss on it.  
"Dream something fantastic, hmm? And tell me about it in the morning."

But the boy was already fast asleep. Nora was leaning in the doorway, watching them with an adoring gaze. When Nate came up to her, she slipped her arms around his neck, burying her nose in the crook of his shoulder. His arms closed around her waist automatically and they stood like that for a while.

"Nate? Let's go to bed."

"Go ahead, love. I'll be along shortly."

Nora smiled, kissed his cheek and left, disappearing in their bedroom. Nate watched his son sleep for a few more minutes. The boy was a miracle and brought so much joy to his heart.  
But eventually, he slid the door shut silently and ventured down the hall, occupying his favourite armchair in the living room.

"Codsworth, could you bring me a bottle of Bourbon and a tumbler, please? The good Bourbon. Then you can shut down for the night."

"Immediately, sir!" After bringing the requested beverage, the robot hovered over to the hallway closet, powering down to recharge his core.  
Nate poured himself a generous measure of the drink, taking a swig and revelling in the relaxing warmth that spread through his body.  
These days were getting harder and harder to manage, he was running out of breath, or noticing how his knees and back ached.

 _It's no wonder, he thought,_ looking at his reflection in the window, _you're an old man. Silver beard and all..._

He'd be 78 next week. And what a life he'd lived. Recently, old memories he'd rather leave forgotten kept creeping up. How much blood had he spilled? Before the great War? As much as was needed.  
After the war? More than he ever wanted.  
He remembered the carnage at the Railroad. He'd known exactly where to find them, when to strike, and with the Institute Coursers at his side, Nate had made short work of the opposition. Short, bloody, work. Blood that still clung to his hands.  
But ultimately, the destruction of the railroad wasn't personal to him. He hardly knew them, it was more the whole battle that weighed on him. Ending lives in general, it wasn't easy. And it wasn't meant to be easy. Ever.

Annihilating the Brotherhood had been easier, for Nate had fought with anger. They were taking away his only chance at a family, and when he'd shot _Elder_ Maxson in the face, the satisfaction at the explosion his shotgun shell had wrecked had been very real.

One of the Coursers had teleported him to watch the proud Prydwen burst into flames, and as his hateful face had been washed in the harsh red glow, even the Coursers had feared him.

His only regret was Danse. They had fought beside each other, Brothers in Arms. And when Danse had found out his life had been a lie, that he was a Synth.. He'd taken it badly.  
Nate found him, talked to him. And watched how Dance, the soldier, the warrior, had pressed the barrel of his beloved laser rifle to his chin.  
Watched the anguish in the other man's eyes.  
Watched him pull the trigger.

Back then, Nate felt it to be right thing to do, the right order of things. Dance was what he hated, how could he reconcile that? Surely it had been better to let him end it than live with that burden?  
Now, he was not so sure anymore.  
Maybe he could've helped his friend. Help him come to terms with what he was and make peace with himself. But he hadn't and no matter how much he tried, Nate could never figure out why he didn't even try.

He poured himself another glass of Bourbon, completely lost in memories now.  
Recalling Piper and Nick, Nate decided he'd need to send a Courser to Diamond City soon. He wasn't even sure if Piper was still alive.  
Nick was, of course, being a synth. He could've visited, but Nate knew Nick wouldn't want to see him.

The old Detective was disappointed in him, and nothing Nate said would change that.  
He'd try to explain to his friend, tried to make him see that this was Nate's chance at normalcy. At the life he should have had. The Institute's technology was so advanced, his Nora was perfect. She was the wife he'd lost in the Vault.  
Nick had called her a disgrace to Nora's memory.

Nate had almost shot him then and there, a hot anger rising, but instead, he'd walked away.  
Nick couldn't understand. Even with all the feelings, all his memories, Nick was still only a Synth.  
His personality wasn't his own. And he'd never understand this need, the aching.

Hancock hadn't understood either, and he'd made his disapproval very vocal. They'd gotten into a horrible fight, in the middle of Goodneighbour. But the anger over the incident had faded with the years. He understood Hancock's betrayal now. And how Hancock had felt betrayed by him.  
Ultimately, Nate had ended the argument with his shotgun. Hancock must've been tripped out again, he saw it coming, but just wasn't fast enough.  
Nate had won, and the Mayor of Goodneighbour, the leader of misfits, lay dead at his feet.  
The city had actively fought the Institute after that, and Nate had given the order to terminate anyone who resided there.  
Today he regretted Hancock's death. If only his old friend had tried to understand. Or had not called Nora an abomination, he would've walked away. But that insult against his family?  
Nate had simply given in to the anger.

At least Preston was doing well. Upon becoming Director of the Institute, Nate had made Preston the new General of the Minutemen, and despite his friend's protest, he made a formidable leader.  
The Institute and the Minutemen had an uneasy truce. People will still unnerved by Synths, but since Nate had Coursers patrolling around settlements, Raider, Ghoul or Supermutant attacks had significantly lessened.  
People were slowly starting to trust the Institute more and more, but it might take years to heal old wounds.  
Nate understood that, and he was happy that at least on of his old companions tried to understand.

Curie also was doing well. She became a researcher with the institute and her knowledge on diseases and cures lead to her heading a new department, soley researching cures for Radiation sickness and other diseases.  
Codsworth however, the engineers had to re-write his subroutines. It was easy enough, and the war was scrubbed from the robot's hard drive.

After his third tumbler, Nate's brain was beginning to get sluggish and he was starting to feel lonely. He wanted to call for Nora, but wasn't willing to wake her.  
With sorrow, he recalled how Dogmeat would curl up on his feet when the loneliness came. But his most faithful companion was long gone, succumbed to old age.  
The scientists had made amazing forays on synthetic animals, and had offered to replicate Dogmeat.  
Nate had refused.  
No copy could replace his dog.

Nate never stopped to think why he was so convinced that Dogmeat could not be replicated, but his family could.

 _Was I wrong? Was this all a mistake? I lost all of my friends, one way or another. I let Danse die, I killed John..._ A few silent tears slipped over his gaunt cheeks into the silver beard. These thoughts would sometimes come and he always drowned them with Bourbon. Today, it would not work.

 _I... What have I become?... I'll have a Courser take me to Diamond City tomorrow. I need to speak to Nick... To Piper, if she lives. Visit John's grave. I need to make amends.._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They found him in his armchair the next morning, the tumbler at his feet, Bourbon soaked into the carpet. A sad, melancholy smile was etched into his face.  
They say "Old soldiers never die; they just fade away." The director of the Institute died peacefully, fading into the next world.  
Word was sent out to his old companions, to the Minutemen, to mourn the loss of the director.  
Preston Garvey, old and rusty himself, and Nick Valentine, even more frayed by the years, came; standing side by side as their old friend was lowered into the ground, next to Father, the former director.  
On his headstone, burned in by the Coursers, stood what had motivated all of Nate's actions.

" _For Family"_


End file.
